YACAMUNDA: Aboriginal for Work for your Tucker

By Nick Thomas

YACA-MUNDA, Aboriginal for Work For Your Tucker.

Hello, readers, I’m the author of this biography— Nick Thomas…nice to virtually meet you.

I’m an Australian male, bred in the bush, and this is my journey from growing up in rainforest mountains in the early seventies, to moving from the bush to out west, to moving to the big smoke of Brisbane city, to travelling to other countries.

Join me as I push through life’s challenges— disabilities, loss, hardship, pain, loyalty, hard work, and much more—as we all do.

My main goal is that this will help you push yourself just that little bit harder. I hope I can inspire you in some way, and that my book will have a positive outcome on you.

A percentage of sales from this book will be donated to children’s charities. We are all champions in more ways than one; we’re all on this journey called life.

Welcome to my journey.

Live and learn, never give up…enjoy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Dec 7, 2022
• ISBN: 9781471028533

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

I’m writing this book to give hope to the people battling illness, pain, abuse, fraud, theft, manipulation, lies, false hope, deceit, mental health, greed, disabilities, loyalty and much more.

A percentage will be going to charities, as donations to help the kids in need; bush children with special needs disabilities, who need health assistance, who have suffered abuse. My hope is this will give you the strength to push through no matter how painful, hurtful or hard life may be. Each breath is a gift. Keep pushing forward. You are a champion in so many ways.

This is my story, my journey. Be humble and never think you are better than anyone else. For dust you are and dust you shall return.

I will start from around two years old, growing up on my Pop’s cattle station. We lived in a caravan, ten metres away from the house. Pop’s house was a five-bedroom home where he had lived alone since the kids left home. Pop would pay peanuts because we were family.

We grew up in poverty, really. Mum would buy second-hand clothes from the charity shops — digging through the bags was like Christmas. She had done that for 16 years, living on nothing.

On the upside, we lived on 5000 acres of mountain range country. We could go to East Funnel Creek to fish and swim or West Funnel Creek, both joining on Oaklands. It had the best water, nice fresh mountain water, crystal clear. We always had fun as kids, always something to do the next day.

Rough, our pig dog, would jump in the Toyota and Dad and I would go up the paddock where we’d run into a mob of pigs. Dad and Rough would catch and tie up the black and white pigs while I would chase the suckers, the baby pigs.

Nick & pig at 4 years old! 1974.

I would put them in the pig crate. We would keep the young, middle-sized black and white pigs and feed them up on vegetables, pumpkins we grew up the paddock in the burnt timber stacks. The pumpkins would fatten the pigs up in three months. Worming the pigs first, then feeding them up to kill three or four at a time. We always had pork, beef, chicken, duck, kangaroo.

I can remember being five or six, chasing the chooks around to catch the ones mum wanted to save for food. Mum would cut their heads off with the axe on the chopping block. We would do five or six at a time. A few ducks too. Dear Mum would spend hours plucking them.

The next day, Dad and I would go up the paddock to look for some kangaroos. We would get two young ones, cut the back strap meat off, take the tail that was for the family to eat and throw the other parts in the back of the Toyota ute for the working dogs.

We would get kangaroo meat given to us in a food container when I was a kid. Kangaroo tail stew was my favourite meal! No McDonald’s out there. That’s how we lived in the 70s. No purchased meat in packets back then, especially on the farm.

Pop would give mum $200 a month, just enough to buy our shoes, books, school uniforms, fuel and groceries. Mum would always try to make something out of nothing. She never let us down. She has a big heart, like her own mum, Gran. Gran and Grandad were real good people, rest in peace. They’re sadly missed.

I had my first near-death experience when I was around four years old! Mum and her friend went up the creek to the crossing. The water was running over the crossing. It was crystal clear, beautiful fresh mountain water. Being so young, I didn’t know about the swimming hole at the top-side of the concrete crossing.

Mum jumped in. Her friend jumped in. I thought it was okay for me to jump in too.

As I jumped in, I got sucked into the pipe. Lucky for me, mum’s friend grabbed my wrist. It was a fluke the pipes were blocked with timber or I would’ve been drowned, stuck in the middle.

When I went under, everything went black. I could feel her grab me with her second hand, trying to pull me out of the pipe. The water was so powerful, it sucked off my swimming togs shirt as she pulled me out. It scared the living daylights out of me.

That lady saved my life that day at the crossing.

On East Funnel Creek I had my first punch-up on the school bus. A kid tried to trip me as I was getting off the bus from preschool. I just started punching him. Old Webby slammed on the brakes.

Mr Webby walked me off the bus, asking me what happened. I told him the kid tried to trip me. Mr Webb said, Are you okay?

I said, Yeah, I’m okay.

He replied by saying, I’ll see you tomorrow!

Ok Mr Webb, see you tomorrow.

A true gentleman, may he rest in peace.

Now I’d made it to grade two. Big lunch time. The storeroom door was open so I went in. Got four high jump posts, put them behind the school and made a boxing ring.

There were six of us grade two and three boys. We would get in the ring, bare knuckles, and punch on.

A good mate of mine, Radley was a much bigger boy. Taller, with more weight. He would get cranky angry. We would fight for five minutes at a time, hammer and tong. Radley would be crying, I had a blood nose.

The grade seven boys walked past saying, Look at these mad buggers.

I replied, Do you guys want to have a go?

They said no way.

The next few boys would have a go, everybody having a good time.

This went on for two days. The boys had some heart and it was all fun. We would all shake hands, no harm done, just a sport we enjoyed.

The next day, on parade, our headmaster said to the boys, Boxing behind the school, no more please!

That put an end to the school boxing. It was fun while it lasted.

Over the years, Radley and I had a few more knuckle ups. We were always good friends.

School break is coming up soon, I said to the lads. Let’s do something to Mr Skippin’s brand new Datsun 200B.

I meant no harm. Over the next few days I worked out what I was going to do as a joke to the headmaster! The bigger boys all plotted together.

At school break up the next day, my plan was to take some Vasoline to school, sneak over to the headmaster’s car and put the Vasoline under the two front door handles. Good, clean fun.

Unbeknown to me, the grade seven boys had another idea. Their plan was to fill the exhaust with bananas. They had a stick they used to poke three bananas up the exhaust of the new Datsun.

We had a fun day that day. All the parents were there. There was ice cream and watermelon. All the games - sack races, egg and spoon races. Fun was had by all. Some kids went home with their parents, others took the bus home.

Unbeknown to us, the headmaster and his lady friend went to open their car doors. Both got Vasoline on their hands and both laughed at the prank. They got in the car, cleaning their hands and trying to start the car.

It wouldn’t start for a while, then it started running sick. They made it out the front gates when it stopped, not happy. He then locked the gate and tried to start the car again. After a while it started, only to get 20 meters down the road and stop with a clunk.

The headmaster walked back to the school to ring a tow truck from town. It picked up the car and dropped it off at a mechanics work shop. We had no idea what was going on with the car. We all had a great six weeks holiday.

The headmaster couldn’t get a warranty claim because of the bananas in the exhaust. They bent all the exhaust valves, costing the headmaster a small fortune to fix.

We all came to school after six weeks off, happy to be back to catch up with friends. It had been raining for a week, so the older boys made a mud slide down the hill at school.

It was roughly eight metres long. We all started sliding down, standing up on our feet. We would slip over after a while, sliding in the black mud. By the end nobody could stay on their feet.

We couldn’t stop laughing. We had so much fun the first morning back at school.

The headmaster, driving through the gate in his new Datsun, did not look happy. He came straight over to us, saying, What the hell are you doing?

Nothing, we replied, standing beside the mud slide.

He said, Go stand in a line beside the tank.

He hosed the black mud off us, then he said, Now you can go pull out the prickles around the tennis court so your clothes dry off in the sun.

We did this job, then the bell rang.

We were still wet. The headmaster came out to tell us to stay where we were until we were dry or had pulled all the prickles out. Two hours later he came out again.

He said, That looks like sweat, boys. Time to come up to the office. He lined the seven of us up, saying he had car trouble leaving the school on break up.

His first question was Who put the Vasoline under my car door handles?

I said, I did, Sir.

He then said, Did you do anything else? Anything to do with bananas?

I said, No, Sir.

The headmaster said, You’re dismissed, Nick.

I was glad to get out of there. The other boys all got six of the best. When he caned you, he would jump off the floor like a tennis player hitting the ball.

The boys came down from the office, some crying, some laughing, some red-faced. Lessons learnt — do not touch the Datsun 200 B!

That headmaster gave me the cane more in that last year he was there than I had in all my school days.

That’s how we rolled in the 70s. People were not stressed back then. Everybody seemed happy, having fun. With money tight, families would make the most of it.

Sunday roast for family dinner. Family time is very important.

It was always good to catch up with uncles, aunties, cousins. Saying goodbye to Grandma and Grandad, Thanks for a nice dinner, see you next time.

We would head home over the range, Dad going back to contracting, timber clearing on the Caterpillar D7F dozer on Sandy Creek Cane Farms.

Home from school on Monday, I would catch my faithful old steed. He wasn’t easy to get in, he made me work to get him in the yards.

Me being so small, old Noble would lift his head up so I couldn’t get the bridle over his ears. So I would climb up the fence to get more height. Sometimes I would get the bridle up to his ears, then he would step away, making it impossible for me to get the bridle on. I would walk him back around to the rails. Try again. I would never give up.

When I had the bridle on I’d have my wire and pliers together on the post and I’d pick them up on the way past.

Noble, being 16 hands high, was a tall horse for a kid. I was never allowed to ride in a saddle until I was seven years old. I was given an old jockey saddle that had no pads to hold you in. I went for some crashes with that saddle.

I was on a young mare, Frisky, mustering the breeders close to the yards through the long grass, when the horse started bucking. She bucked me off and I got hung up in stirrup iron, dragged along the ground as fast as she could go.

I could feel her feet running over me as she drags me ten metres through the long grass. I was lucky my foot came out — thanks to Grandma and Grandad for buying me RM Williams leather riding boots. That saved the day.

It was a good shake up for me. I had never been hung up before. I was never hung up again.

Picking myself up, I ran over to the corner of the yards where Frisky was. I grabbed the reins. She was a small horse. Away we went, back mustering the breeders, 600 head with wearers and calves at foot.

The rest of the day we drafted the cattle, drafting off the weaner calves and the strangers. After the drafting, we put the weaners on water. Branded the calves. Dipped the calves. Then let them out to mother up for an hour.

While they were mothering up we did a few jobs that need doing before we brought the next mob in.

The next day, Pop followed us with the Toyota. I brought up the tail end of the mob. They all knew where they were going, they knew their paddock, so they just walked home nice and slow. We left the weaners in the cattle yards where the feeder and water turf was. We didn’t give them any feed for a few days. Then we started to feed them.

They became very quiet, settled down when they knew that you were feeding them. We did this for a good week; took over bales, fed them, worked them through the yards so they got to know them after a week. Then we took them out on horseback to feed them in the paddock, tailing out the weaners. This taught them how to work with the horse to muster them.

The next day we took them over to the house yards, running them through so they got to know those yards. We took them back to the main cattle yards after a few days.

We drafted the weaners and steers separately from the heifers, then we ran them through the vet crush, worming them, de-horning them, dipping them.

After this process, we took them home. The steers went to the young steer paddock. The heifers went in the creek paddock, close to home, away from the bulls.

After a few days we drove the Toyota through the heifers, throwing out some hay. Stopping and talking to them while feeding them. You could pat some of them, they would get that quiet.

The next day, we did the same with the steers. Driving through the mob, throwing out hay, then stopping so the mob could gather around the Toyota. We fed them, talked to them, pat them. It all helped to make them quiet, not crazy like some cattle.

I was in the stables letting Noble go. Funny how, when it was time to knock off, Noble would put his head down to the ground so I could just lift the bridle over his ears. Very smart! When it was time to go to work he would become a stargazer, neck stretching to the sky, making it hard as possible for me to put a bridle on him to do some work.

I could hear the Toyota ute coming down the driveway. It was Dad home. Noble walked off now his day had finished.

I ran home up to the house to see Dad lifting a big bird out of the ute. Meet Goofy, Nick.

He was a friendly emu, fully grown, with trouble written all over him! Goofy was a perfect name for him. He was so goofy. For example, Dad was painting the Cat D7F bulldozer. He looked around and there was Goofy with his head in a 20 litre drum of Cat yellow paint, pecking at the bottom of the tin.

For six months Goofy had a yellow head and neck. Everybody asked, What happened to the emu?

To make a long story short we told them he put his head in a tin of yellow paint. They had a good laugh about his antics.

Goofy got bored really easy. One day he chased my billy goat around the paddock just because he could.

When I caught the billy goat, I put a harness and cart on him. He stood there like a good goat. He had big horns. Once I was in the cart and I had turned him out of the shed, he started trotting like a good goat. The goat had a very hard mouth. He was hard to turn and he was hard to stop.

Once we got around the house that goat went fast down to the stables where the feed was. Dust was flying out from the cart.

Then out of nowhere came Goofy, chasing us. It was a fast ride to the stables! Flatstick!

Stopping at the corner gate, I opened it to let Goofy go through into the yards. I gave Goofy some feed to keep him happy and locked him in the yard.

Billy the goat and l went for a ride over to the main cattle yards. It was really good fun, like a horse and cart but a goat!

Billy put me through a few fences over the years. He got better as he got older, a lot easier to control.

It was awesome fun. Family friends would come up for the day. The boys also enjoyed the billy cart rides. As long as you had Goofy locked up, the goat was good.

Don’t get me wrong, Goofy was a great pet. He was very adventurous. He learnt how to walk over the cattle grids and crawl under barb wire fences.

Goofy found a new adventure, chasing our good neighbour’s prize dairy cows up the road.

Roy had 200 head of full dairy cows ready to turn into the dairy yards when out of nowhere came Goofy, head in the air, running up the road. Roy was tearing his hair out, knowing that an emu was chasing his dairy cows away from the milking yards. Now he had to go through the mob, turn them around, go around the other side and bring them back around to get them in. Once Roy had gotten the cows in he chased Goofy up the road on the old motorbike.

Roy rang Pop that afternoon, telling him what happened. We went down to find Goofy. He was back in our place as if nothing had happened, eating away in the front paddock like he was there all day.

Goofy played this game for the next few days. He chased the cows every milking time then he went home and act like he had been eating all day.

Roy came up to the Homestead to see Dad about doing something with Goofy. Roy had grown to like him, so now before he got the cows in he went looking for Goofy and chased him way up the road.

I think Roy did that on purpose. He chased Goofy up the creek, not down the creek to home. He ended up at the next dairy farm, Paul’s place.

Paul would ring us, telling us an emu was chasing their cows. For some reason Goofy stayed there. He just loved dairy cows.

They were happy to keep him on the farm. He stayed there to his final days. He was one funny bird!

Back on Oaklands, I remember that back as a young kid, everything on the place needed so much work.

The main cattle yards were falling down, sheets of tin wired up everywhere. The old crush and sliding gates had broken, rotten rails. The dip and all the calf branding crushes were falling down. It was all old and patched up, made out of timber from Oaklands.

I remember in the early 1970s, after the 1974 floods we had a tick pandemic. All the old Angus cows were old and small. The ticks were really bad — we were dipping every three weeks back then.

I remember how wet it was in the 1974 floods. Mustering the cattle in the rain, you could hear your horse’s feet going down in the mud.

The land was sour. It had been wet too long with the water still running out of the mountains. l would not want to be at school for quids.

We mustered the bullocks back into the cattle yards. At only seven years old, I would sink into the mud up to the top of my boots.

Wearing school shirt at work on school day!

Nick & Pop home for smoko. Mustering.

The old cattle yards were built on the virgin ground, no gravel. We had 800 head of bullocks to draft and dip in the pouring rain. It was up to Dad and I to fill the forcing yard before drafting the cattle. I got on one side, Dad on the other. We let the right amount of cattle through, then we moved in from either side to the middle of the yard. With each step I could feel my foot pulling halfway out of my boot.

Dad yelled, fill the gap!

That meant move into the middle more. I was about four foot tall with fully grown bullocks jumping between him and me to get away. I took another step in towards the middle, bullocks just missing me as they jumped past. Dad was swinging the stock whip like a crazy man.

Then, slap! under the ear. I could feel the burn, the stinging on my neck. He got me a good one with the six-foot stock whip. l felt that!

Turning back to fill the yard, I was battling, running to flick the gate across to Dad. I got there just in time to flick the gate back to him. to chain shut .

Even doing this every day, a week at a time, I wouldn’t have had it any other way. It was in my blood; it was gold to me. I loved it from such a young age.

I just loved the job, the country, the lifestyle in the early 70s.

Pop bought an old Cat D9 dozer, pilot start engine. We had the Cat D7F. Pop picked up some scrub pulling chain and they hooked up the two dozers and started pulling the scrub in the paddock on the western side of Koumala Range.

I sat on the dozer all day and fell asleep with the sound of the timber hitting the roof. I slept through it and hit my head on the steel cab without waking up.

Dad’s cousin came up and operated the D7 dozer. I went off to school for the week and coming home you could see all the scrub that had been pulled. It looked really good. They left big patches of heavy scrub and the smell was so fresh. They pulled the light timber spots, leaving the scrub pockets. The view over the valley was awesome.

In 1970, Pop bought Bar Twenty. It was beside Oaklands, a neighbouring place. The rundown old dairy farm had been abandoned. Pop picked it up for a good price.

It was a perfect addition, making Oaklands a very good size for the quality of country. It was our pride and joy.

Adding Bar Twenty was perfect. It had no fencing, only rundown boundary fences. Dad started pushing the timber over to let the sun in and the grass grow.

We ended up running 600 head of breeders on that block. Now Oaklands could carry 1800 head of cattle on 5000 acres.

Life was an adventure for me. I was always doing something, even being so young. I would grab the horses and go for a ride. We would always find pigs and if we were quick enough we would catch a few. It was always fun for us kids.

My friends loved coming up for camping, swimming, billy cart riding. We would build cubby houses and treehouses always having fun. Our school mate neighbour came over to go fishing on weekends. He rode his horse over, went fishing for the day, then home he went.

Dad bought a paint gelding, unbroken, brown and white. He was called Flash. Dad broke him in. He came really good, he had a really good mouth.

I could get on him and he would stand there as a horse should. He was full of heart. Mustering in winter, I rode all the way out to the Old Highway, to the front of the paddock to bring the mob down the boundary fence. We were walking towards the dam and I thought Flash was going to get a drink. It was around -2 degrees that morning.

But to my surprise, Flash kept going. He didn’t stop for a drink.

I could not swim at the time, I was only young. I’d never had a horse do that so now I was in trouble for the second time. I nearly died!

Flash had lost his footing and was now swimming across the dam, his head starting to go under. He was starting to drown. All I could do was hold the saddle and kick along beside the horse. I was thinking, I’m going to drown here.

There was nobody around. I couldn’t swim, I couldn’t even dog paddle. Back then, being so young, my only option was to grab the saddle and hang on.

Ten metres to go, then out of nowhere he found his footing on the other side.

I was thinking to myself, Thank God!

When I could feel the mud under his feet, I started to pull myself back into the saddle. I was soaking wet, freezing cold, but loving my horse. He was all heart, a little ripper.

We ran our second mob of breeders on this block, 600 head plus calves and weaners at foot from Bar Twenty to Oaklands cattle yards.

We had to put a cutting along the side of the hill. It was roughly ten metres wide by 800 metres long, keeping the fence above the flood line. We would bring the 600 head